Page 32 of Satan's Spawn
Roman tagged along to help us get all of my belongings up to my room but then took off to make the inspection on his new gallery in time. Which was fine because Archer was right there waiting to take over with the heavy stuff.
He didn’t even complain about me forgetting the coffees.
We haven’t stopped unpacking for three straight hours. June and Hendrix equally as exhausted while the five of us sit scattered around the dorm room to take a much needed breath.
“Everything looks fantastic, girls.” Mom looks around the fully furnished room. One side a darker, edgier set up with cartoon caricatures and band posters pinned up on the walls. Hendrix—or should I say—Hendrix’s mom, picked out a blocked colored comforter mixed with gray, black, and whites and dressed it neatly over her bed as her daughter sat disinterested at her desk.
I stand up from my bed, and walk over to the small artificial palm tree Mom bought to make me feel at home. I turn the switch on at the base, and watch as the entire tree lights up with the same type of LED lights that are hung in waves over my bed.
I stuck to what I’m used to: a bold teal on my mattress and the same bohemian tapestry I hung in my room in La Jolla. Except there’s pretty twinkling lights in front of it this time. Walking into this room seems like night and day with the differences in style. But it’s moody and I like it.
“We did a pretty awesome job.” I agree, sitting down on my bed between Archer and Mom.
“This calls for celebration!” Archer declares, slapping his knees. “Because with all the shit—” His mouth clamps shut, forgetting to censor in front of the parentals, then adds, “Because with all the very necessary items we had to unpack, I thought we’d be here until midnight.”
Mom and June chuckle, then June says, “You don’t have to hold back in front of us, Archer, we use a bunch of colorful words when raising teenagers.”
“Can’t forget the husbands too!” Mom joins in on the joke with a raised finger.
I want to point out that she’s usually the biggest kid in every room, but thoughts of my dad surface, particularly ones that remind me he isn’t the husband she’s referring to, and it replaces my playful mood with a somber one.
Mom must tell, because there’s an apologetic look crossing her face. I smile anyway, letting her know it’s okay and it’ll pass. I would never want her to feel like I resent her for finding happiness again.
Even if I’m still looking for mine.
“Well, that is one problem I do not have.” June brings Hendrix in for a sideways hug. “It’s just me and my girl.”
With that, I see the first real smile from my friend since we started the move in.
As much as Hendrix has this withdrawn way about her, I can tell she’s also nervous to leave her mom.
No matter how prestigious the school is you send your kid, a girl will always need her mom, and being stripped of that is something you can never fully be prepared for.
Especially when you’ve already been stripped of a father, which is something we both share in common for different reasons.
“Back to the celebratory plans, ladies!” Archer cuts in again. “How ’bout we grab a bite to eat? Lunch is on me.”
“Archer”—I shake my head—“you don’t have to do that, you’ve already done so much.”
He waves me off. “Ehhh, no worries, Bex. By ‘on me’ I really mean ‘on my grandfather’ because I’ll be using his Amex. Doubt he’ll even tell.”
I don’t know Mr. Beaumont, other than being a lawyer and headmaster, but I do know your teenage grandson using your money to pay for the lunch of four complete strangers may not be something that bodes over well. No matter how rich you are.
“I don’t feel right about that.”
“Trust me, Bex. With classes starting tomorrow, you may end up considering the meal as a small restitution.”
9
BEX
Pulling up my second black thigh high sock, I stand from the bed and reach for the blazer. Running a thumb over the embroidered shield at the breast of it, I examine it closely before whipping the jacket over my shoulders.
Walking over to the mirror I take a minute to look at myself. The plaid gray, white, and black skirt falls just around my thigh, exposing ten inches of bare flesh until it meets the high socks. Mom made sure to iron my button down, and the tie over it, but unlike that snob Alexis on orientation day, mine is secured comfortably at my collar.
I kept my hair straight, waking up an hour earlier to flat iron it perfectly, even added some of Hendrix’s concealer to my face so I can hide a pimple on my chin from PMSing.
I’m happy with how I look, and all that’s left are my black flats to complete the ensemble. I slide both feet into them effortlessly, picking up my brand new Stella McCartney tote Mom and Roman got me for good luck.
